The Journey (20 page)

Jane had just placed her foot on the first step when we heard Colonel Fitzwilliam call my name. We turned to see the colonel and Mr. Darcy approaching from across the drive.

“Miss Elizabeth, I trust you have everything packed,” the colonel said.

“Yes. I have little to carry, so it did not take long.”

“Let me add one more item.” He reached inside his breast pocket and, taking my hand, placed an object in it. When he drew back, I was amazed to see my garnet cross.

“My necklace! Colonel Fitzwilliam, where did you find this?”

“The highwayman had it.”

“The highwayman?” my uncle asked. “Which one? Were there not three or four of them?”

“Four,” the colonel answered. “Unfortunately, they had sold all the other stolen jewels, but Morgan, the ringleader, had this on his person. He offered it freely and asked me to return it to you, an action I, frankly, found surprising.”

I had lowered my face to my hand, examining the chain, pleased to see it was not broken. When I raised my eyes at the colonel’s words, I met Mr. Darcy’s piercing stare instead. He held my gaze with such unspoken command that I found myself unable to look away.

“I, too, have no idea why, Colonel, but I am grateful for its return,” I murmured.

“Well, shall we board?” my father suggested.

Jane climbed into the carriage, and I turned to follow, but for some reason when I placed my foot upon the first step, I drew back, suddenly overcome with revulsion and fear. My hands grew cold and yet clammy at the same time, and my head began to throb. I must have gone quite pale, for my uncle took my arm.

“Are you unwell? What is it, my dear?”

“I — I do not know. A sudden feeling of illness.” I fumbled around, attempting to calm the uneasiness that had overtaken me.

“Shall you return indoors?” my father asked. “Perhaps a glass of water would help.”

“Yes, a glass of water for Miss Elizabeth!” Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered a passing servant.

“No, no, I do not want to delay the trip. It is just — I cannot explain it.” I turned to look at the carriage and felt the sickness wash over me anew. What was wrong with me? If I climbed aboard, I thought I might surely faint.

Suddenly, I felt Mr. Darcy’s presence at my side. He took my arm and gently led me to a nearby bench. The others remained behind, an action I failed to question at the time. I sank down upon the seat while he stood before me.

“Elizabeth, are you afraid? Is it the thought of riding in a carriage that fills you with alarm?”

I looked up at him and nodded, unexpectedly aware that he was correct, and grateful that he put into words what I could not. He sat down beside me and covered my hand with both of his. To this day, I remember how warm his clasp felt, as though I had returned to that safe harbour I trusted and to which I might cling.

“Forgive me,” I murmured. “I cannot account for my behaviour.”

“No, no, it is to be expected. You are reliving the terrible event that happened the last time you rode in a carriage. ’Tis perfectly natural.”

“But how shall I ever leave this place? I do not wish to walk to Town.” I smiled slightly, and he did in return.

“No, we both have had enough of walking for awhile. Sit here for a moment until the feeling passes.”

How long we sat, I know not, but I made not the slightest attempt to withdraw my hand nor did he remove his from holding mine. At last, he asked if I felt better, and when I replied in the affirmative, he nodded.

“Come, I shall help you board the carriage, but before you do, I want you to look around. Not only shall Fitzwilliam and I ride our mounts beside you as escort, but you will be surrounded by armed redcoats for guards, as well. On this trip you will not be harmed, I promise you.”

He rose and led me back to the vehicle, assisting me up the steps and inside. There, he sat beside me for a moment, still holding my hand. “How do you feel now? Has the anguish lessened?”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Remember, I shall ride outside your window.” He pressed my fingers briefly to his lips and then departed.

Jane, who had left the carriage when I became ill, quickly bounded up the steps and sat beside me, her blue eyes averted. My father and uncle followed thereafter, and it was but a matter of moments before we were off.

No one asked what Mr. Darcy had said — another strange occurrence — and I offered no explanations. I took several deep breaths, and each time I felt the panic begin to rise, I turned to the window where I could see Mr. Darcy riding on his great black horse.

* * *

We arrived in Gracechurch Street by late evening, and I hurried inside into the welcoming arms of my aunt.

“Lizzy, is it really you? Are you returned to us safely at last?” she cried.

I could only smile and nod and embrace her once again. There was much confusion greeting my young cousins, and Jane came to my assistance by answering their questions and shielding me from their unrelenting curiosity.

We had been ushered into the small parlour and urged to partake of a cup of tea. Both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy declined, stating that they must depart and meet with their own anxiously awaiting family. I, too, refused the tea and asked my aunt if I might be excused.

“Of course! You must be exhausted. Jane, go with her, dear, and I shall send up a tray,” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed.

All of us convened in the foyer as the gentlemen were leaving. I had just climbed the first two stairs behind Jane, when I heard my father speak to Mr. Darcy.

“I understand. You must hurry home tonight to your sister, and you will want to see your uncle and aunt. Tomorrow will be soon enough for our talk.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I shall meet with you shortly after mid-day, if that is convenient.”

“Perfect,” my father answered.

Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam then walked toward the stairs, and both of them bowed. The colonel expressed his wishes that I should recover quickly from the trip.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, “and allow me once again to express my deep appreciation for all you have done to rescue us.”

He smiled and turned his attention back to my aunt and uncle. Mr. Darcy, however, spoke directly to Jane. “Good night, Miss Bennet.”

He then turned back to me and locked his gaze upon mine.

“Good night, Mr. Darcy,” I murmured.

“May you rest easy tonight, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

Gooseflesh crept up my arms. Why had he addressed me in that familiar way within earshot of others? Had it become such habit that it slipped out, or did it mean something much more important? Did it have anything to do with meeting my father on the morrow? Before I could even begin to consider the enormity of the possibility, he and the colonel walked out the door.

After I had changed into my nightgown, Jane offered to brush out my hair, a practice we had performed for each other since childhood. I gladly accepted, and throwing a shawl around my shoulders, sat at her feet on the rug before the fireplace. As she ran the brush from my scalp down the length of my curls, I revelled in the feelings of comfort and security derived from such a simple action. I was safe.

I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the rhythm, longing to be back at Longbourn, wishing it were a week earlier and I had never begun that journey to Town. Our greatest concern then had been how soon Mr. Bingley would call after the Netherfield ball.

“Jane, did Mr. Bingley travel from Hertfordshire to Town in the carriage with you and Father?”

“Yes, along with Mr. Hurst.”

I rolled my eyes. “What stimulating conversation did
that
gentleman offer?”

She laughed lightly. “Very little that I can recall. We had gone but five miles before he began to snore.”

“Excellent! Now tell me that Father also fell asleep, and Mr. Bingley took advantage of the situation to propose.”

“Lizzy! Do be serious.”

“But you were thrown together oft times throughout this nightmare, were you not?”

“At first.”

“What do you mean?”

Jane sighed. “When we received that horrible post informing us of what had happened, Mr. Bingley called that morning. He was most kind and tried to be as reassuring as possible.”

“As well he should have.”

“He also offered his second carriage for our trip to London, and he suggested that we all travel together that evening.”

“Well and good,” I said, rising to stir the fire.

“But since we arrived in Town, I have not seen him.”

“What? He has not called on you in three days?”

She shook her head, casting her eyes down to her lap. “I am sure he has had many things to occupy his time, what with his sisters’ distress.”

“But what was he like before that when you were together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was he himself? Was he pleasant and amiable, and did he appear to be as much in love with you as ever?” I took the brush from her and began to apply generous strokes to her long, blonde hair.

“Oh, Lizzy, I do not know that Mr. Bingley is in love with me.”

“How can you doubt it? I have never seen a man so attentive, so doting.” She did not make any reply, and so I ventured further. “Has his manner changed since the Netherfield Ball?”

“No,” she replied somewhat wistfully, “I cannot say that it changed. Of course, he did not call at Longbourn even once during the week after the ball, which seemed somewhat unusual, but you are aware of that. And then I received the note from Caroline saying the entire party was removing to Town, and shortly after that, Father came in and announced that you were to travel with them. Lizzy, I have the strangest feeling that Mr. Bingley might never have called again except for your misfortune.”

And I knew the reason why! Mr. Darcy had already cautioned him against Jane. How could he! My blood ran hot just thinking about such a blatant injustice committed against my dear, sweet sister, but I bit my tongue and did not tell her. I could not bring myself to squash her hopes and dreams.

I laid the brush aside and crawled up on the four-poster bed, kicking off my slippers and hugging my knees to my chest while staring at the dying fire.

Jane rose and gathered her things. “You must sleep, Lizzy. I have kept you long enough.” She walked over to kiss my forehead, and I caught her hand.

“Jane, stay with me tonight.”

“But dearest, will you not rest better alone?”

I shook my head. “I do not want to be alone.”

She sat down beside me and patted my hand. “Are you still afraid?” I nodded. “Then, of course, I will. Would it help to talk about it?”

I sighed. “Oh, I hardly know where to begin.”

“At the beginning,” she said.

And so I told her the story from the way Caroline Bingley had flirted with Mr. Darcy in the carriage to the moment Colonel Fitzwilliam surprised me in the woods.

She was horrified at my description of Sneyd and his vulgar remarks and vile threats, and her eyes grew wide when I described Gert, the other two men and the cabin where we all stayed. My picture of Morgan, however, caused her to gasp aloud, especially when I told her of his scar and how he had rescued me from Sneyd’s ugly advances. She could not believe I had actually sung for him and that we had danced together, and when I related the story of his childhood, I saw the sympathy that I expected reflected in her eyes.

“Perchance, he is not as bad as he wishes people to think he is,” she said softly.

“That is exactly what I think, Jane. He pretends to be a dastardly, infamous character, but in fact, he seems more like a poor, unfortunate youth who never really had a chance.”

“You said he did kill someone, though.”

“He did, and I do not know how it came about, but I believe it was to save his own life. The man evidently came at him with a knife or sword to inflict the wound that scarred his face.”

Jane leaned forward and peered into my eyes. “Lizzy, do you care for this Morgan?”

I glanced away and rose from the bed to stir the fire yet again. “In another time, another place, I might have. As it is, I can only feel pity for him. And fear.”

“Fear?”

“They may hang him.”

“Is that not the punishment for theft and kidnapping?”

“Possibly transportation, but if he is wanted for killing that man, then murder will be added to his charges, and he has not a chance.”

She lowered her eyes and made no reply. What could she say? I could see no way out for Morgan.

Silently, we pulled back the blankets and plumped our pillows. Jane was just about to blow out the candle when my aunt tapped lightly at the door and then opened it.

“I have brought you one of my sleeping draughts, Lizzy. I thought you might need it, for your father and I agree that a night of good, sound sleep will benefit you more than anything. Shall I mix it up for you?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

She busied herself stirring the medicine into a glass of water.